Chapter Text
CNN
BREAKING NEWS: King of Genovia Announces Retirement
Wed, 1:37 PM, December 21st, Hayley Stenburgh
CNN -- Here’s some drama to kick off the new year. For the first time in fourteen years, The United Republic of Genovia, one of the world's wealthiest and most isolated monarchies in Europe, has just announced this past Sunday that a new king will be chosen to rule over the country within the following year. King William von Rufus De la Iglesias the Third, the last remaining member of the Novak family, concurred these claims in a speech last week stating that he will be retiring early from his position, something that hasn’t been done since the country's founding.
After the infamous slaughtering in Peru that took the lives of Genovia’s beloved previous Queen, Sarah Novak, along with her brother Declan and many other members of the royal family, King Rufus assumed the throne in his niece's place and has been ruling for nearly fifteen years---that is, until recently. Because of his retirement and because he is the last true member of the original bloodline, the Genovian parliament has been forced to consider loosely connected family members to ascend to the throne in his place.
Already tension is brewing in the royal court between possible inheritors of the crown. The Baron deWinter, despite being first in line should the King ever step down, unfortunately has received a rather poor reception from the people after last year’s comments towards the working class and refugee programs. On the other hand, the Duchess Tarquin, while only coming third in line to the crown, has been praised continuously these past few years for her thoughts on education and her actions towards immigration reform. Despite both the Duchess Tarquin and the Baron deWinter being strong contenders, His Majesty has not made clear who will ascend to the throne in his place; in fact, he refuses to answer any questions on the topic and will soon be leaving for America in the wake of this political turmoil, possibly to avoid any and all inquiries on the fate of the monarchy.
With rumors of a possible illegitimate heir circulating the internet as of late, His Majesty’s sudden departure comes off as nothing but suspicious. However, until such an announcement is made, the people are left in obscurity for the remaining months leading up to the next coronation.
+986,987 likes
twentyoneproblems posted this
@twentyoneproblems: o h my god?? WHY is he retiring he’s barely been in office for fourteen years that is NOT long enough
#genovia #new king #???? #im not ready #2016 just got worse +330 likes
beanman replied: he’s like fifty million years old and he only got the crown bc he was LITERALLY the only royal left maybe the pressure got to be too much for him
TinySmol replied: tbh idk if i’d be able to run a country after my entire family’s been slaughtered and yet this man does it for fourteen years i think we should give him some more credit +3 likes
yaegermanjensen replied: I’m gonna miss him so much omg ;( I’m not ready to let him leave me and my mom are actually crying rn +22 likes
@mierda: Lo voy a extrañar muchísimo ;; + 6 likes
@iluvJasperdeWinter: everyone needs to get over it lmao like he already made the speech so chill tf out. now that rufus is out of the picture we can finally get the deWinters in office and the country will FINALLY get turned around
#Jasper deWinter #deWinter family #make genovia great again #elitist party +47 likes
thefaultwithourgovernment replied: blocked
yaegermanjensen replied: blocked
celia_cutie replied: blocked
twentyoneproblems to @iluvJasperdeWinter: please do not start any #discourse on my page thnx
@iluvJasperdeWinter: you can block me but you can’t block out the truth
celia_cutie replied: b l o c k e d +7 likes
It all started on a Monday, as most tragedies do.
He knew it was a bad idea, he knew that he would get in trouble for it, but Callum Hunt wasn’t the type of kid who normally stressed about meaningless things like “rules” and how he should abide by them. If he wanted to do something, he did it--and in this case, pranking the superintendent’s daughter and sending her home with a ruined locker and a fair amount of emotional scarring was definitely worth the three weeks of detention he was facing.
Unfortunately the principal didn’t seem to think the same way he did, going by her expression. But what did she know? As far as Call’s concerned, this prank wasn’t even that bad . At least no one ended up in the hospital this time.
(“You should really apologize to Kylie Myles for what you did,” said Ms. Milagros. “She was crying.”
"She cried?,” he asked eagerly. “Did anyone get it on video? Can you send it to me?”)
You know, he thought he’d really gotten off the hook with this one when Milagros only sentenced him to 3 Saturday detentions and a call home to his father, but he honestly should’ve known better.
His dad didn’t drop the bomb on him until later.
“I called your Great Uncle Rufus,” Alastair told him over the dinner table that night. And Call, well, he’s never exactly gone pale from fear before (he’s Hispanic, there’s no way he’s turning white at any rate) but he definitely felt the blood drain from his face in a way that was sure to be noticeable.
His father continued calmly, “He’s apparently on his way to New York.” A pause. “He should be here by tomorrow.”
Call couldn’t help it. He spat out his coffee. Then immediately started coughing and hacking up a lung, while Alastair mildly held his newspaper out of reach of the mess dribbling across the table.
Havoc let out a small woof of concern, but Call was too busy dying to really comfort his wolf/husky puppy. “Uncle Rufus is coming here? Tomorrow?! Why??”
He barely looked up from his plate. “To see you.” And with that ominous note, got up to go wash the dishes. Call stared after him in abject horror.
When he told Tamara the next day during detention she didn’t exactly have the reaction he was expecting. All she said was, “Isn’t that the same uncle who pays for your tuition here?”
“Yes,” he said impatiently. She was totally missing the big picture here. “And the same uncle who’s paid for all of my surgeries, and the same uncle who gave me Havoc, and the same uncle who I haven’t spoken to in over five years, Tamara!”
When she continued to braid her hair in silence, Call draped himself over her desk. “Do you know why that is, Tamara? It’s because he’s evil , Tamara!”
“Oh no,” she said flatly. “And why is that?”
He glanced carefully around the room to make sure no one was listening.
“Because he's part of the mafia,” he whispered with certainty.
“What? ”
“It's true! There's so many clues. He's super rich but he hasn't worked a day in his life, he says he has a job in politics, but he’s never told me exactly what kind of job.” He threw his hands up in the air. “He has a private jet , Tamara!”
He dragged his hands through wild black hair, down his face, and then slapped the table with both palms. “He's probably here to try to initiate me into his gang and do underground drug runs or whatever to carry on the family name. Tamara, I cannot go to that meeting.”
“I think you’re just being dramatic,” she replied. “Besides, my parents own a private jet and they’re not evil.”
But that was different, because the Drs. Rajavi were actually world-renowned psychoanalysts so it made sense that they had a bunch of money. Nearly everyone at Magisterium High came from rich families, considering it was a private school smack dab in the middle of Manhattan, but Call wasn’t necessarily a “rich kid”, nor was he accessible to the mysterious inheritance his Great Uncle Rufus used to pay for his school costs. Call and Alastair just kind of did their own thing and got money from time to time like some weird form of child support. Besides that, he knew basically nothing about his uncle.
Which brought up the question: why exactly was his uncle coming to see him? His dad said it was because he kept getting sent to the principal’s office, but he knew that wasn’t true because when he got expelled from his last school his Uncle just sent him money to pay for tuition elsewhere. There had to be a reason why he suddenly wanted to be in his life again.
“This is what you get for putting a dead frog in Kylie Myle’s locker,” Tamara shrugged, and Call made an offended noise.
“I did it because she was making fun of you! Don’t I get any thanks for my sacrifices?”
“I can take care of myself. You, obviously, cannot.” Once she was satisfied with her hair, she turned to face him. With the combination of pigtails, a pinafore dress, and copious amounts of eyeliner she looked like some kind of demonic school girl.
“Anyway, enough about your weird uncle. Are you taking anyone to the dance?”
Call immediately sat up. He almost wanted to laugh, but Tamara was giving him a totally serious look and he realized that she was, in fact, not joking. “The winter formal? You act like I’m actually going.”
“That’s because you are going,” she told him. “Tamara Tells It Like It Is is doing a news story and discussion on the effects of social gatherings on the teenage psyche.” She gave him a Look. “And we need our camera man.”
He groaned. He was glad that Tamara’s public access TV show was gaining more traction, but he really really did not want to go to the dance. And if he did end up going, which he really did not want to, he would have to take someone with him. Because what kind of poor sap shows up to a school dance alone? Not Call.
So he put on his best fake smile and fluttered his eyelashes at his best friend. “Of course. Miss Rajavi, would you do me the honor--”
“No,” she said. Call deflated. “I already have a date.”
“What! No way.” She smiled secretly to herself and he gasped. “Who asked you?”
“All in due time, young grasshopper,” she said, patting his hair. “What we need to focus on is getting you a date. Now, I’ve compiled a list--”
“Miss Rajavi! Mister Hunt!,” a voice barked from the front of the room, and both students jerked in surprise. “If I catch you talking one more time I’m giving you another detention.”
They turned away from each other, pretending to work, but obviously started whispering again once the teacher’s back was turned.
“How did you even end up in here, anyway?,” Call asked curiously. It wasn’t like Tamara to get detentions. Or, to be exact, it wasn’t like her to get caught .
She rolled her eyes. “Someone tipped off the principal about the student walk-out on Friday and Milagros gave me two days for “attempting to disrupt class”.”
The door to the LRC opened and a blond head poked his way in. None of the other students paid any mind, except for Call, who’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as the boy approached the teacher’s desk and handed him a red folder.
“I bet you it was Stewart,” Call said darkly, inclining his head to the boy chatting amicably with the teacher. “He’s a snitch.”
“What? Aaron’s nice,” Tamara defended. She smiled and waved at the soccer player, and he waved back.
“Yeah, I know,” he agreed. “He’s super nice and tall and blond and plays soccer and never gets in trouble. People like that make me sick. ”
Aaron’s green eyes slid over from Tamara to meet Call’s glare, and his cheeks turned red. Yeah, he should feel embarrassed for telling on Call’s best friend. Call hoped he tripped on a banana peel or something. Tamara needs the justice she deserves.
“You are honestly ridiculous,” Tamara murmured under her breath. Then popped her gum.
January, Detention
TAMARA’S ULTIMATE LIST OF POSSIBLE WINTER FORMAL DATES (with commentary by callum hunt)
- Gwenda (I would consider it, if she didn’t already hate my guts)
- Kylie Myles (YEAH ok) Why not? It could happen (yeah sure, “hey Kylie sorry I put a dead frog in your locker, will you go to the dance with me??” not happening, chica)
- Aaron Stewart (Tamara you’re not even trying)
- Alex Strike (??? Isn’t he dating your sister??)
- Kimiya Rajavi (I’d rather stuff rusty scissors in my ears, no offense) None taken
- Havoc (YES)
- Rafe (talks too much)
- Kai (talks too little)
- That One Creepy Girl Who Draws Pentacles In the Bathroom Stalls (...maybe)
- The Garbage Can in the Cafeteria (no, really, thank you. My self esteem is just ascending)
This is rigged. You didn’t even put enough people on here.
You literally don’t know anyone else.
Celia???
She’s not allowed. Besides, you don’t even know her last name.
What do you mean she’s not allowed? And yes I do, it’s...Johnson.
No, Call.
Smith? It has to be Smith.
Just stop.
Call caught a taxi after he was let out of detention and fiddled with the buttons on his blazer the entire way there. A few minutes later the taxi driver pulled up to the extravagance that was the Plaza Hotel.
Call hadn’t been here since his uncle’s last visit. Rufus always stayed here when he came to New York (he absolutely refused to stay anywhere else) which was as annoying as it was inconvenient.
At least he had the good sense to keep his uniform on. Last time he’d been there they refused to let him in because the owner of the hotel didn’t like baggy pants, and he’d had to call up to Uncle Rufus’ room to tell him he couldn’t come and see him. Of course, Uncle Rufus just asked to put the concierge on the phone, and seconds later they were apologizing like crazy and treating Call like a celebrity, which gave him a pretty good insight on how influential his uncle really was.
“Are you gonna sit there all day or what?,” barked the cab driver, making him jump. After handing him the money and mumbling an apology, Call exited the taxi and let out a long gust of air, trying not to feel too intimidated. Then he walked inside.
There were a lot more people on the inside compared to the outside. And it was more extravagant too; the entire room (if you could call it that) was swathed in gold from floor to ceiling, with intricate little diamond chandeliers dangling down like icicles across the main lobby. Call walked up to the front desk and tried not to marvel at his reflection in the polished tile underneath his beat up converse.
Once there he was greeted by a man with graying brown hair and watery blue eyes. Call blinked up at him. He looked important.
“Hi,” he said. “Are you the owner of the hotel?”
The man smiled kindly, but shook his head. “I’m not. My name is Joseph. I’m your Uncle’s...new assistant.” The smile turned wan. “Your Uncle Rufus is waiting for you in the restaurant. Please, come this way.”
He held his arm out like he expected Call to take it, which only made him mad. Just because Call was crippled, people tried to go out of their way to help him all the time. Most people would think of it as a nice gesture, but to Call it almost seemed condescending.
He decided right then and there that he didn’t like Joseph.
Joseph led him to and through the restaurant past tables full of Korean tourists who snapped pictures every five seconds, another few tables of German tourists who were talking very loudly, and finally to the very back corner of the room where a tall, dark-skinned man was sitting, face hidden behind a newspaper. Joseph cleared his throat.
“Your M- I mean, Mister Rufus,” he stumbled, but Call didn’t catch it. He was too busy staring at the man’s bald spot. “Your nephew has arrived.”
Uncle Rufus looked up. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t frown either. His expression stayed perfectly neutral, even as he examined Call up and down with a lazer-like focus.
“Thank you, Joseph,” he said in that deep, rumbling voice of his, and the man stepped off back from whence he came. Rufus nodded at him. “Hello, Callum.”
“Hi, Uncle Rufus,” he fidgeted with his sleeve. God, he hated this part.
Rufus gestured for him to sit. “You've gotten...somewhat taller,” he said, and Call scowled at the sly jab as he sat down. “And you're looking more and more like your father every day.”
He said that like he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.
“Thanks,” Call said, just to be annoying. “Your bald spot is looking shinier than ever.”
No reaction. Call mentally kicked himself. He needed to try harder.
They fell into a bout of silence. While Call floundered to think of something else to talk about, Rufus just stared at him cozily across the table. This was bad. If he didn’t say something soon he was going to get nervous and blurt out something stupid.
“Um,” he started. “Nice...hotel, right?” Too late.
Rufus gave a barely there smile and hummed. “The restaurant is beautiful, no?”
“I guess,” Call said, avoiding eye-contact. “But maybe you should’ve picked somewhere less..,” he made a vague gesture. “Froo-froo?”
Rufus raised an eyebrow. “What would be more to your tastes then?”
Call wasn’t sure if he was patronizing him or genuinely asking. To be safe, he said, “I dunno, I guess McDonald’s would be too chill for this sort of meeting. Do you like Apple-Bee’s?”
Rufus folded his newspaper up and handed it to a passing server. “No,” he said. “I like Pierre Gagnaire .”
“Never heard of that,” Call replied. He looked at the table and then frowned when he only saw napkins. “Where’s the menu?”
“I already ordered our food. I didn’t want to make you wait long. When was the last time you ate?”
Call thought about it. “I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch.”
He frowned at that, looking troubled. “You had a what?”
“And some fries,” he added hastily. “And a cupcake.” Although it was originally Tamara’s, not his.
Rufus shook his head and muttered. “I pay twenty thousand dollars a year for that school and they give you peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? Unbelievable.”
“It’s not that bad,” Call interjected. “I mean, yeah, sometimes it’s frozen and you nearly break your teeth trying to bite through an ice-block of jelly, but it tastes good and it’s somewhat nutritious, so.”
He was interrupted as the waiter came around and placed their meals on the table. The man was extremely nervous and when he tipped the pitcher of water he almost spilled their drinks. The poor dude looked like he was on the verge of tears as he profusely apologized, but Rufus just waved him off.
Call was suspicious. That was typical Mafioso behavior if he ever saw one (he hadn’t).
The plate set in front of Call was steaming hot and looked like some sort of fancily arranged meat. He wrinkled his nose and Rufus noticed. He asked him what was wrong with the food.
“I’m vegetarian,” he told him truthfully. “Y’know. Herbivore. Eat plants, not living creatures.”
“Since when? You used to eat meat all the time when you were younger.” For some reason he seemed deeply offended by this. Like Call being vegetarian was an insult of the highest degree.
“Key word being younger . I’m fourteen now. A lot can change in a few years.” They’d been here for about twenty minutes now. Call was getting impatient. His leg kept jiggling under the table and bumping the drinks and he knew his Uncle was getting annoyed, but he couldn’t stop. He blurted, “Um, why am I here exactly?”
Rufus gave him a long look. So long in fact that it was making him nervous just from how silent and judgmental he was being.
“This was a test,” Rufus said after a moment. “And I’m sorry to say this, but you failed.”
Call’s heart nearly stopped, but he tried to play it off with a shrug. “Darn, that’s too bad. Will you at least curve the grade?”
“This is serious, Callum,” he said. Oh boy, here we go . “I was hoping that now you’ve started high school you would have matured a bit, but I see my expectations were...naught.”
Call bristled, but tried not to show it. “Sorry to disappoint you,” he said through gritted teeth.
His uncle watched him carefully for a moment. Call wasn’t nervous anymore, just angry. He hated how his uncle always saw the worst in him. It’s been like this ever since he was born. Ever since he came out of that hospital room with a shattered leg and all of Rufus’ shattered dreams of him being the perfect little rich boy he’d hoped for. It was like no matter what he did, he couldn’t please him.
Rufus said, “I suppose I’ll cut to the chase.” He sighed and set his own cup down, clasping his hands and fixing Call with a serious look. “Callum,” he said. “I am getting very old.”
“Yes.” Call agreed.
“Very soon I won’t be around to properly carry out my duties,” he continued carefully. “And...I think it’s time that you learn about your family history. Namely your mother’s.”
A hush seemed to fall over the room. Even the German tourists quieted some, like they knew the duo in the back of the restaurant were about to have a moment.
“My...mother.” The word felt foreign in Call’s mouth. When was the last time he even thought about her, his late mother? Alastair never mentioned her, neither did Rufus, and they were the only two family members left who knew her...or what happened to her.
“Fourteen years ago,” Rufus began. “My country, Genovia, was involved in a bitter war that took the lives of many people. The country was split in half on two opposing sides. Fear and murder rampaged across the land and few were spared from the cold clutches of death. A good number of those involved, unfortunately, were the royal family.
“We had a queen before then, a mighty ruler, but she perished along with her brother and cousins to the overlord known as Constantine.” Call felt a chill run up his spine at the name. “But for fourteen years my country has been without a proper ruler, and without the hopes of the people keeping the spirit alive, I’m afraid Genovia will begin to die.”
There was a pause. Call blinked. “Oh...I’m sorry for your loss?”
“That queen’s name was Sarah Novak von Rufus de la Iglesias,” Rufus said quietly. “Your mother.”
Call blinked again. “Oh.” Then he blinked two, three times more. “ Oh .”
Rufus waited calmly, letting the information sink in. But Call still wasn’t getting it. “Alright. So my mom was a queen,” he said a little distantly. He shrugged, but his heart wasn’t really in it. “Cool, I guess.”
He messed with the edge of the tablecloth, but Rufus still didn’t say anything, just stared at him. Call asked, “What?”
He sighed again (he was doing that a lot). “Don’t you understand what this means?”
“Uh, no?”
“It means,” he stressed. “That as of today, you aren’t Callum Hunt anymore.”
“I...” Call didn’t know how to respond to that. “ Okay . Then who am I?”
And then Rufus gave him this sad sort of look. He said, “You are Callum Hunt von Rufus de la Iglesias Novak, crown Prince of Genovia.”
A beat.
Huh.
Well.
That was...unexpected.
“A...prince,” he said slowly. “Me.”
And then he laughed.
It wasn’t a good laugh, not like a “wow you’re so funny” laugh or even a mildly alarmed chuckle-this was a laugh of pure panic. And when Call started panic-laughing, he couldn’t stop, because if he did stop then he would delve straight into anxiety attack territory, which he did not want to do at a fancy restaurant in front of a legion of German tourists.
“You,” he said between bouts of hysterical giggles, “are insane. I can’t be a prince .”
The man raised an eyebrow. “And why not?”
“B-Because!,” Call spluttered and gestured vaguely at himself. “I’m not ‘prince’ material. Look at me, I’m short and weird and I have a limp and bad hair, I’m terrible at sports and no one likes me. I can’t...”
He trailed off at the sympathetic look his uncle was giving him.
“I don’t know where these self confidence issues came from, but you shouldn’t think so badly of yourself,” said Rufus gently, making Call huff sarcastically. He plowed on, “You’re a smart young man and being athletic won’t dictate whether or not you’ll make a good ruler. And there’s nothing wrong with your hair.”
“That’s not...” He shifted uncomfortably in the fancy seat, suddenly extremely uncomfortable having this conversation in such a high class place. “Look. You can’t just tell me something like this and expect me to take it in stride. I need...time to process.”
“Most kids your age would be ecstatic to learn they were of royal descent!” Yeah, most kids. In case you didn’t know, Uncle Rufus, I am not most kids.
“And look at the bright side,” He pulled out a pamphlet from one of his giant coat pockets and slid it across the table to Call, who picked it up with shaking hands. It was a brochure, from what he could tell. A large marble white castle against a blue sky with the words “Visit Today!” scrawled in fancy script across the top.
“You’ll be able to have anything you’ve ever wanted, and more. Doesn’t that sound great?” He tried for a smile, but Call was staring blankly at the table. He wasn’t laughing anymore. “And of course you’ll also love Genovia. The castle grounds this time of year are very beautiful. We have stables and fountains and beautiful gardens. You’ll love living there, I promise.”
Call felt sick at the implication. “Hold on,” he said, voice shaking. “Are you-I can’t just move . I have friends here! And what about my dad? And Havoc?”
Rufus’ sorry excuse for a smile twitched. “You’ll be able to visit during the summer, not a big deal. And your father thinks it’s a great idea-”
Call was horrified. He knew his father had to be getting irritated with him (especially as of late with the whole expulsion and detentions thing) but would he really go as far as to sending him off to a different country? Well , he thought frantically in his mind, It seems so; you’re holding the evidence right here in your hands!
“-and I’m sure we can work out something to let your friends visit you,” Rufus was saying, but Call put a hand up to silence him.
“You know, you really have some nerve ,” he began, and his uncle’s smile fell away completely. "I can’t believe you thought you could just turn up out of nowhere and just-just expect me to pack up everything and leave. You haven’t even been in my life at all and now you just drop this bomb on me and decide to act like family when you want something from me?”
His voice was getting increasingly angrier and louder, he could tell, because the German tourists were starting to look over at their table and whisper.
Rufus, on the other hand, looked pained, which was the most emotion Call had ever seen from him in all of his life. A small dark side of his mind hissed, Good .
“Now Callum-” he started, reaching across the table to grab his hand, but Call jerked away as if he’d been burned.
“No. No, I don’t want to listen to you.” He shook in his seat. “You can take your money and all your fancy crap and go back to Genovia by yourself because I’m not going to play dress up for you.”
He could almost imagine Tamara cheering from the sidelines.
“Callum, listen to me,” he pleaded. “This is just as hard for me as it is for you. You have to understand my side of the situation-” Oh, so now he was trying to play the victim card? Seriously?
“Okay,” Call said, standing up. “That’s it. I’m going home.”
Rufus rose from his seat as well and frowned. “You can’t just run from your problems, Callum. And I know where you live. You won’t be going anywhere I won’t find you.”
“Then I’ll go somewhere else,” he said with conviction. And before anyone could stop him, Call turned around and sprinted out of the restaurant as fast as his leg would let him.
“Callum Hunt! ,” Rufus barked, but Call was already running across the restaurant, through the open doors and out into the lobby, nearly bowling over Mr. Joseph when he tried to stop him, then through the rotating glass doors and down the streets of New York.
He didn’t know where he was going. He just ran.